


Socks

by AllTheFeels



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Awkward Daryl, Drabble, Explicit Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Just a description or two that might seem gross, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Short & Sweet, Sleepy Kisses, blisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:10:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheFeels/pseuds/AllTheFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl would rather not be put on bed rest over some goddamn blisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

Socks aren't a huge priority in the apacolypse. Walkers are the biggest problem, followed closely by finding clean water, followed even closer by finding good food. Every once and a while a new, stranger problem presents itself--- a pregnancy scare or even a real goddamn pregnancy--- but they deal with it.

Socks aren't a big enough deal to bring up, so when Daryl's finally wear out, he just laces his boots tighter and carries on his merry fuckin' way.

It doesn't take long for that to be a problem. Walking rubs a little uncomfortably, but not painful. They're work boots, they're supposed to be worn with thick socks, not nothing but bare ankles that have always been a little disproportionately bony. He knows they're rubbing away at skin, but fuck, half of his wounds nowadays are stitch worthy, a few irritating blisters won't do anything.

He doesn't really take his boots off properly until they find the prison. He would unlace them, sure, but without taking them off, Daryl just assumed the sores were coming and doing. The first time he takes them off at the prison he actually manages to cringe at the gaping, worked open skin, a flow of glistening liquid dribbling out of it like lava flowing down the mountainside to destroy a town.

He snags some wrap from Rick, knowing that their leader would probably be so up in his own head he wouldn't even notice, or if he did, he wouldn't trust himself enough to say anything. Probably not the greatest tactic, but still, Daryl would rather not be put on bed rest over some goddamn blisters.

He hadn't accounted for the random wake up calls in the middle of the night, though. Every once and a while, one or two members of the group would think they'd hear something. Usually it was Rick and Daryl that went out to check the perimeter, but occasionally Glenn or Maggie would tag along. Once, Rick had sent Carol and Daryl out with a gleam in his eye that made Daryl so annoyed he could feel even his skin cells tremble in the silent rage of, "What makes you think I can handle a love interest? And besides, we flirt, but it's just--- it's friendly flirting, and I get that that's weird as hell, but fuck, man, that's the way it is, alright?"

The current one happened not long after the hunter had finally closed his eyes--- if Daryl still cared about exact timing, it would probably have been around one to three in the morning. He'd been in his usual sleeping position--- curled in on his side, one hand just tickling the edges of the Bowie knife he kept under his billow, when a cool skin made contact with one of the many open sores and it burned.

Daryl's eyes snapped open and he reacted almost quicker than he could see-- if it was a walker that had just decided to fuckin' develop a foot fetish, the disgusting thing had probably gotten God knows what in there--- as he curled his fingers around the knife and kicked his foot straight out.

Rick shouted out a curse and Daryl stilled for a moment before lowering the knife and sighing, snarling,

"Why the fuck would you jus' grab me like that, man? The hell are you thinking?"

Rick, panting a little, sets his hands on his hips like he's just run from a walker that got a little too close to being a runner.

"Perimeter check," He says through gritted teeth as he touches his hand, checking to see if the moisture he felt was real, "What the fuck is wrong with your ankle, Daryl? Is that blood? Shit, you're not---"

"No!" Daryl yells before biting down on his lip, silently hoping he didn't wake up lil' ass kicker, knowing the baby would be a struggle to soothe, "No, shit, it's just a blister."

"Lotsa shit for just a blister," Rick says, training his flashlight on the hunter's bare ankles and only seeing a flash of glistening flesh, bright red skin and half formed scabs before shutting it off and snapping, "What the hell?"

"A few blisters," Daryl caves, "They're under control, jus' from workin'. Goin' out huntin', y'know?"

"Don't you fuckin' wear socks?!"

There's nothing but quiet in the air, save for Carl's soft snores a few doors down.

Rick doesn't continue speaking and Daryl just glanced off to the side, trying to swallow the overwhelming embarrassment and awkwardness of the situation.

"Daryl," Rick finally speaks, picking up his earlier line of thought, "You look like shit, man. These need treatment. Where the fuck are your socks?"

"I'm fine," Daryl snips, passive aggressively shoving his feet under the thin blanket, "And I don't need no goddamn perverts sticking their noses where they don't belong."

Rick doesn't even look fazed.

"Did you lose them?" He wonders aloud, taking a half step to the side before leaning back on his feet and going, "No, that's too irresponsible. You don't really just lose shit, Dixon, so how in god's name did your socks disappear? I know you had them."

Voice muffled, head turned to the side, and eyes squeezed shut, Daryl finally spits out, "I wore them out. They weren't exactly necessary goddamn supplies so I didn't mention it."

Silence.

A pair of dry, chapped lips brush against Daryl's cheek before pulling away, and he peeks an eye open to see Rick with crossed arms.

"You're an idiot," The sherif mumbles, "But..."

He shakes his head with an affectionate look flickering across his rough features, his scraggly-ass beard, "Go back to bed. I'll take Glenn, and you're getting that cleaned up tomorrow, you darlin' dipshit. You can take a pair of my socks once you're done."

**Author's Note:**

> I have blisters all over my goddamn ankles from work and I am SUFFERING.  
> Let me know what you thought, though, that might ease the suffering ;)


End file.
